


Haunting

by Frozen_grapes



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, because that's what stark men do, howard goes to the future and doesn't like what he sees, so he changes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frozen_grapes/pseuds/Frozen_grapes
Summary: Howard Stark wakes in the future, where his son Anthony manages to reverse engineer his machine in less than a day and promptly sends him back.He has no memory of his time with his son, just vague notes, gut feelings, and haunting dreams. That won't stop him from doing everything in his power to change his son's life.
Relationships: Howard Stark & Maria Stark & Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 303





	1. 1. Howard

**Author's Note:**

> You know those time travel fics where Howard jumps to the future and is unhappy with his son? Yeah, this is one of those, except Howard isn't disappointed in Tony's life choices, he's disappointed in _his_. So he changes.
> 
> Also, Tony Stark's birthday is listed at May 29, 1970. But Marvel verse has his parents dying in 1991, when he was 17. So for this story, Tony was born on May 29th, 1974.

The one driving force in Howard Stark’s life is the need to be relevant. 

Can’t make a flying car? Oh well, look at these weapons I dreamed up. 

Not trained for battle? Maybe so, but I can fly a plane and help out Captain America. 

So when he blinks himself awake in his lab and looks at the note in his hand that says, “Time travel is a bad idea - don’t fuck with the timeline,” his head throbs in protest and he feels utterly useless. 

But Howard knows he would not accept a mind wipe, would not let himself be so easily dismissed. 

So he simply looks at his half-finished time machine and then stands up, patting down his pockets until he finds the sheaf of hastily scribbled notes he knew he would code to himself.

~*~*~

_”I was almost happy when you died, you know.” Tony smiles without humor, staring down at the glass of whiskey in his hand. “I cried for Mom,” his hand lifts, the glass hovering at the rim of his mouth, “still do sometimes.” He swallows, face betraying not the slightest hint of discomfort at the burn of alcohol. “But I was relieved when I thought it was just you.”_

_“Anthony.” Howard aches. Yesterday he went to bed with the vague notion of needing to call Tony’s boarding school and inform them that Tony will be staying there over Thanksgiving break. This afternoon he woke up in the future to a broken, alcoholic son._

_“I always tried, you know,” Tony continues quietly, staring down into his tumbler of whiskey like it holds the answers to everything. “But I was never ... I was never Captain Perfect. I was never enough for you.”_

_You are, Howard wants to say. But his throat burns._

_Tony smiles humorlessly, like he heard the unspoken words and dismissed them as a lie. “I burned the world down, Howard. Does that make you proud?”_

_**I will fix this** , he thinks fiercely, looking down at the tablet in his hand and committing the information about the Avengers and Shield and Iron Man to memory. _

_Howard Stark is not useless._

~*~*~*~

“Dad?”

Howard turns around at the uncertain word and there is his son, his Tony, hovering uncertainty in the doorway and desperately trying to appear confident. 

Howard wonders what he did to this beautiful, innocent boy to warrant the severity of his coded notes. 

“Come, Anthony," he says simply, holding out his hand. Tony takes it immediately - certain images are always to be maintained in public. “Thank you, Mrs. Hammond,” he says, smiling congenially at the principal, “I will return him to you Sunday afternoon.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” It’s the first time he’s ever picked Tony up for a weekend away from school and Mrs. Hammond looks like she doesn’t quite want to let Tony go. But Howard is generous with his donations, so she simply smiles, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “Enjoy your weekend, Tony.”

They’re in the car and Jarvis is driving away before Tony musters up the courage to ask again. “Is. Did something happen? Is mom ok?”

Howard turns to study his son. Anthony is eight now, still short for his age, but his eyes are shining with intelligence. He gets a flash of tired, dull brown eyes and the scent of whiskey, and he has to blink hard to clear his vision and focus on the little boy in front of him and the scent of leather from the meticulously maintained interior. 

Tony has chubby cheeks and a small bruise on his forehead. His shirt doesn’t fit him properly, indicating he’s undergone a growth spurt since school began in September. Howard can’t remember the last time he looked at his son like this.

“Your mother is fine,” he says simply, absently, and then turns to stare out the window, feeling desolate and ashamed in a way he can’t quite put his finger on. 

Tony wants to ask more questions, Howard can tell by the way he fidgets slightly and twists his fingers in his lap. But even at age eight he has been taught his questions won’t be received well, so he stays quiet until Jarvis is pulling up alongside a diner and coming around to open the door. 

It’s a quaint little place, red vinyl seating and an old jukebox playing Fleetwood Mac in the corner. Tony’s eyes are huge, dancing with emotions and excitement as they settle into a booth and Howard orders them both cheeseburgers, coffee for himself and a chocolate milkshake for Tony. 

“How are you?” He asks, after the waitress has dropped off their drinks and Tony has stopped spinning in his seat, looking at all the colored graphics on the walls. 

It occurs to Howard that he’s never taken the time to figure out how to talk to his son.

“I’m well, sir,” Tony answers immediately, unconsciously straightening in his seat and darting a look toward the parking lot where Jarvis waits with the car. “My studies are progressing smoothly and Mrs. Hammond thinks I should be able to begin high school classes next semester.” 

“Good, good,” Howard says absently. “But how are _you_?”

“I’m.” Tony stops, blinks, flicks another look out to Jarvis. “What?” He sounds so uncertain that Howard almost scraps this entire exercise. It would take mere moments to have Tony bundled into the car and back at school. 

But.

“Anthony,” he starts, only to stop again when their waitress returns with their burgers. They both smile, thank her profusely, flirt a little. She blushes for Howard and seems utterly charmed by the dimple that appears in Tony’s left cheek when he grins. Howard didn’t know his son had a dimple. 

There’s silence after she leaves. Tony seems happy enough to eat his burger and Howard is grateful. He can charm congress and shareholders, but is so far out of his depth talking to an eight-year old that sweat has gathered in the small of his back and under his arms. 

“Sir?” Tony says tentatively, putting down his burger. Howard has his mouth full so simply gestures at Tony to continue. “I... Um. I made a robot last week. In the lab? Um. I, I have permission to be in the lab because I’m really good at building things, and, I, I made a robot and put a, uh,I synthesized a recording device to put in it.” He smiles uncertainly up at Howard, taking a deep breath and continuing on bravely when Howard doesn’t immediately dismiss him. 

Howard tries to think how many times he does _not_ dismiss his son, and has to give up. 

“That way one person can record something to the robot and then, and then, uh, the robot can be programmed to go tell that message to someone else. Not just anyone, like, there is a password or something? Like a secret message between friends.” 

“Hmm.” Howard chews thoughtfully on a french fry, watching the way Tony blushes and hunches his shoulders forward defensively. “That’s clever.”

Tony’s head snaps up, his mouth dropping open slightly and his big brown eyes going wide in shock. He collects himself remarkably fast and blinks down at his plate, picking up a french fry with a slightly trembling hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“I’m.” Howard flounders again, wondering at himself for wasting time in a diner on a Friday night when he should be working. But Tony is looking up at him so hopefully, barely breathing, like whatever Howard has to say to him is profoundly important and utterly relevant to his existence. “I’m proud of you, son. That’s,” he has to stop to clear his throat, “that’s a useful application of your creativity. See that you don’t let your school work suffer, though.”

“No, sir,” Tony says faintly. He hasn’t moved, sitting perfectly still on the ridiculous red vinyl seat as he stares at Howard. “Thank you, sir,” he whispers, looking down at his lap and slowly reaching for his napkin. Howard can see tears prickling in his eyes, and something unpleasant lurches in his stomach. 

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat again, uncertain how to feel about this bonding moment. “Finish your dinner.”

They bring dinner out to Jarvis. Tony’s practically skipping with happiness and for once Howard elects not to chastise him for his behavior. 

It’s a simple weekend. They share a hotel for practicality sake, Howard working on paperwork while Jarvis gives Tony a bath and puts him to bed. Howard sleeps alone while Tony cuddles up trustingly in Jarvis’ arms. 

Saturday has Howard touring a company he’s thinking of buying stock in, bringing Tony along as an afterthought. Tony charms everyone he meets, so polite and curious and smart, and seems overjoyed to simply be allowed to be there with Howard. Again, he sleeps with Jarvis, but this time he gives Howard a shy smile and a tentative hug goodnight. Howard pats Tony lightly on the head and tells him he did well this afternoon, and Tony is practically incandescent with joy. 

While Jarvis and Tony sleep, Howard stares out the window and reflects on how pathetically easy it is to make Tony happy, and how simple it will be for enemies to capitalize upon that. 

When he returns Tony to school on Sunday afternoon, he feels like he should say something to Tony but he doesn’t quite know what. It’s difficult to discuss emotions. But Tony had initiated holding his hand for the first time in Howard’s memory, and it feels like he would be cheating the boy somehow to just drop him off. 

“Anthony.” He stops the boy before he can climb out of the car, Mrs. Hammond already waiting patiently on the front steps for her charge to be returned to her. 

“Yes, sir?” Tony is already subdued as he stares out the window at his school, too well trained to let the sadness show on his face but untrained enough to keep it out of his voice and eyes. Howard makes a mental note to work on that. 

“Stark men are made of iron,” he tells his son. Tony flinches slightly, clearly taking it as a rebuke, and starts to withdraw but stills when Howard reaches out and carefully places his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But if iron is tempered badly, or too thin, or shaped wrong, it can break. Do you understand?”

Tony blinks at him. “No, sir.” He says it hesitantly, like he’s expecting punishment. 

“Hmm.” Adults are easier. Adults who are cowed by his intelligence and wealth are easiest. But he is _trying_ here, so Howard takes a deep breath and lets the hand on Tony’s shoulder curl into a gentle squeeze. 

“Stark men are made of iron,” he repeats quietly, “but I think you and I were forged too thin. I don’t want us to be useless, irrelevant, to break. So we. I. I need to work on forging a stronger connection so we don’t.” Tony has caught the gist of his meaning, his smart little boy, and is staring at Howard like he’s never seen him before in his life. 

Which, to be fair, he never has seen this version of Howard before. 

“I collected you from school this weekend because I missed you. And I -” he has to pause to take a deep breath, feeling crushed under the weight of his son’s eyes “- I enjoyed spending this time with you. You are a good boy, Tony.”

Tony is frozen, staring at Howard in wide-eyed shock, cheeks bright red with emotion. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispers hoarsely. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but doesn’t know how to process them. 

It’s the first time Tony has called him Dad instead of Sir in private since he was five.

Howard nods and squeezes Tony’s shoulder again. He feels like he should hug the boy, but he’s just not ready for that level of physical attachment and feels the absence of a hug is preferable to a forced hug. Instead he makes a split second decision and makes a mental note to have his PA rearrange his schedule. “Say goodbye to Jarvis, son. Your mother and I will see you at Thanksgiving.”

Jarvis hugs Tony, picking his boy right off the ground and holding him tight as they whisper together. 

Howard feels unexpectedly lighter as they drive away.

~*~*~*~

_”They called me the Master of Death.” Tony has his back turned to Howard as he flicks brilliantly colored holograms, and half of Howard wants to dismantle and reconfigure the beautiful, beautiful tech... but he’s paralyzed in place. Tony flicks a glance over his shoulder, smirks like he knows how hungry and jealous Howard is for the technological advancements. “I built weapons so revolutionary that no one has ever been even close to replicating my brilliance.”_

_Ice clinks mockingly in the glass Tony picks up, downing the amber colored liquid in one swallow before almost absently pouring himself more. Howard watches the whiskey fill more than three-quarters of the glass, and **hurts**. _

_Because this is his son, so broken, so alone, so angry and hurt._

_“Obie felt bad about trying to kill me, of course.” Tony’s voice is so casual, his hand steady as he picks up his glass again. “The Golden Goose, that’s what he called me, you know.” He starts to take a drink but then stops, letting out a bark of laughter so painful Howard flinches in sympathy._

_“Well, no, you wouldn’t know, would you?” -- He turns to look at Howard now and Howard wishes with everything left in his broken heart that Tony had kept his back turned. Because his son’s eyes are bleeding like an open wound. -- “Seeing as you wrapped you and mom around a tree one drunken Christmas night. Guess that’s one vice I inherited from you.” Tony toasts Howard with his glass before taking a generous swallow._

_Howard looks at the glass, can practically taste the whiskey, and wants to throw up._

_“But he did,” Tony says softly, back once again turned to Howard and those clever fingers -- so clever, his son, just -- still. “Called me his Golden Goose even as he ripped my heart right out of his chest.”_

_“Pull up the specs from quadrant four, Jarv-, Friday.” Tony shudders, but shrugs it off quickly, swallowing his emotions as smoothly as he swallowed the whiskey._

_“Yes, Boss.”_

_The lilt is pleasant but Tony flinches like it’s causing him pain nonetheless._

_He stands there, his son, and creates magic while looking alone and broken and tired._

_Howard spots a discarded drawing pad and quietly reaches for a pencil._

~*~*~*

Howard feels more than a little ridiculous that he, a weapons manufacturer, is making a glorified robotic Carebear.

But over Christmas his Tony, bolstered by Howard’s impromptu visit to his school and a sober Thanksgiving, shyly showed Maria the specs of the toy he’d been working on. Had animatedly explained how you push the antenna to record a message and then push on a button in its chest to hear. 

And something about his expression had made Howard smell whiskey and for a second he was bleeding from a thousand invisible wounds and couldn’t catch his breath. 

So he’d taken the specs, cleaned them up and made a few changes, and had it patented under Tony’s name before presenting it to the board. And with amnesty already declared in Thailand and order production slowing, it wasn’t hard to sell them on a new product to keep sales high and the Stark brand relevant.

Obediah had mocked him, had laughingly slapped a hand on Howard’s shoulder and commented on how he was spoiling his son. But then the test groups had been enthusiastically received and there’s already a buzz on the robot even though it hasn’t been officially announced yet, and Obie had said, “Well, well, well. Looks like your little prodigy is a golden goose full of good ideas.”

Howard threw up. He can’t quite remember why, but he’d taken notes from whatever had wiped his mind half a year ago and keeping Obie away from Tony had been written so firmly his pencil had pierced the paper. 

So production commenced on the robots, and they’re blue and gray and black - all colors that test well in the market -- except for one. This one. This robot that Howard is carefully boxing up and having Jarvis drive out to Tony for his ninth birthday. This robot is red and has a blue heart on its chest, and alternately fills Howard up with both pride and _dread_ though he, again, can’t quite remember why. 

Ad it’s ridiculous, but Howard’s hands are shaking as he carefully presses the antenna down and clears his throat. 

“Anthony,” he starts. Only his voice is rough so he has to clear his throat. “Your designs for this robot were original and well thought out, produced with clean lines. Good attention to detail, excellent grasp of your subject matter.”

That’s ... good. But Howard feels a little like he’s reading a report and something in his brain is screaming at him _more more more_ and, oh god, how long has this pause in recording been? Should he give up and scrap it?

“But more than that,” he forces himself to say. His head is throbbing, his heart _screaming_ at him. He _needs_ to get this out. “Your design showed creativity. And cleverness. You are a smart child, Anthony, and people are going to tell you that many times in your life. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Shit. He just. He wants so much to say the perfect words but he’s. He’s broken and washed up and a drunk and Anthony, oh the thought of his son as an adult wakes him up at night with tears in his eyes and. 

“Be careful who you show this side of yourself to. This sweetness that shows how tender your heart is. People interpret gentleness as weakness and they will twist it until you burn, until you feel like your soul is shattering and I don’t want that,” his voice breaks, too honest, not enough, “I don’t want that for you.” He breathes, quickly, the spool for Anthony’s robot holds more data than the ones being mass produced, but space is still limited and Howard is running out of time. 

“This idea showed me your heart, son. And I’m so proud of you. I’m honored you entrusted it to me. And I love you, more than you know.”

He releases the antenna. 

The heart on the robot lights up, message received and recorded, a soft plastic blue shining brightly against the red metal, and Howard’s hand shakes even as the frantic pounding of his heart eases. He wants a drink more than anything in the world at that moment, but he still can’t even look at the bottles of whiskey at his wet bar. Instead he strokes his hand against the cool metal of the robot before tucking it carefully amongst the tissue paper and closing the box. 

Jarvis is waiting at the door, as steadfast as always, and as Howard hands over the box he swears that his old friend looks proud of him for the first time in years.

~*~*~*

_Anthony’s lounging on the couch in the penthouse, whiskey bottle on the coffee table in front of him and glass held with an inherent, insouciant grace in his hand. The tower is an awe-inspiring marvel of technology and sleek sophistication, but Howard can’t even be proud of his son considering how cold and empty it feels with no one but his drunk, broken child in residence._

_Howard thinks of chubby cheeks and bright, infectious grins. Of clever fingers and a smart mouth, and shy pride._

_He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Tony snorts out a humorless laugh at him._

_“Less than twenty-four hours and you’ll be back where you belong,” he says with a mocking grin. “And then you can convince yourself this is nothing but a drunken hallucination, and I can go back to.” He falters, smile fading, and for a moment he looks so sad and alone that Howard takes a step toward him. But his movement breaks the spell and Tony’s media smile flashes back extra sharp as he leans forward to refill his glass._

_“What’s the matter, Howard? You want to see Rogers before you go?” Howard can’t help the way his breath catches at the temptation and Tony’s smile turns mocking before he drains his glass in one swallow. “You told me once that I was your greatest creation, but I think we both know you’ve always found me wanting in comparison to your national treasure.”_

_“Anthony, you are my son,” Howards tries, moving forward until he’s sitting on the other side of the couch. “You **are** my greatest creation and I love you.”_

_And suddenly Anthony is laughing. “Yeah? Well, you never told me that. Not once.”_

_Howard remembers being so excited for the birth of his son. Remembers buying Maria endless jars of sauerkraut and rubbing her feet and talking to her belly. Remembers the moment he first held his son and the powerful wave of emotion that ripped through him and forever changed him as a person._

_Where did he go so wrong?_

_“I’ll fix this, Anthony,” he swears fiercely, meaning it more than he’s ever meant anything in his life. “I’ll make this better.”_

_Anthony laughs again, toasting Howard with his freshly refilled glass and not even caring when the whiskey sloshes over the rim and soaks into his sweatpants. “Howard, you won’t even remember this. And after tomorrow, neither will I.”_


	2. 2. Jarvis

_”Christ, it had to be you, didn’t it?”_

_Howard, confused and sprawled uncomfortably across a concrete floor, looks up at the voice, at the familiar face. He knows this person... but how?_

_The man is too skinny to be healthy. Looks bruised and dirty in a way that indicates hygiene hasn’t been a recent priority. And he reeks of alcohol. Whiskey, Howard guesses, eyeing the glass held in a loose, trembling grip._

_“All the shit from Ultron and fucking Wanda and I can’t even get a break and have Jarvis be the one to show up unannounced in my workshop.” The man rubs his hand over his face in a familiar gesture, and, no. No._

_“Anthony?”_

_His son looks over, and those brown eyes of his are still wide and expressive, but they’re also hard. Broken. Like Tony has reached his limit of being tossed around and has given up._

_“Hey, Howard.” Tony toasts him mockingly with his whiskey and drains the glass in one swallow. “Long time no see. What the fuck did you do now?”_

~*~*~*

Something has changed.

Jarvis isn’t sure what, but he knows when. 

One day he’s biting his tongue as Howard absently says to remind him to call Young Sir’s boarding school and request they host him over the holidays, the next an ashen faced Howard is demanding he leave a day earlier than intended for his planned company tour, with time to swing by and collect young Anthony. 

And Jarvis is angry. 

Because Howard seeking out Young Sir always leads to raised voices and slammed doors and Jarvis gently, so carefully, collecting up a small, trembling body and wiping away tears. It enrages him that Howard has the power, the audacity, to inflict more damage to his gentle little charge. 

Only then Jarvis is bathing Young Sir while Tony looks up at him with wide eyes and whispers, “I think I’m being good, Jarvis. I think my dad likes me. Do you think he likes me, Jarvis? Am I behaving properly?”

Jarvis smiles as he lathers shampoo into messy curls and whispers back, “You’re perfect, Young Sir. Your father loves you.”

This time, instead of going quiet or making a face, Tony looks up at him with the solemn, determined expression that usually accompanies him breaking into Howard’s lab or making something in his room explode. Says, “I’m going to be so good that he will love me.”

It’s weird to be jealous, when he has wished so long for Howard to recognize what a treasure his son is. Makes him clutch Tony close when they return him to boarding school, breathe in the scent of him and memorize the feeling of skinny arms hugging back just as tightly. 

Howard says nothing about Jarvis’ lapse in professionalism, just looks out the window with a contemplative expression as they drive back to the city. 

Ana doesn’t trust it. Mutters in Yiddish and bangs pots and pans with unnecessary violence when Jarvis tells her of his weekend. “If that _mkhutsf_ is toying with my baby...” Chops vegetables with a deadly precision that reminds Jarvis of the young troublemaker she’s always been. 

Except. Except Young Sir comes home for Thanksgiving, and again for Christmas, and it’s the first time in over four years that Howard and Maria stay home with him and the first time in _decades_ that Howard is sober for both occasions. 

Bewilderingly, Howard has Jarvis driving him to their holiday galas. Won’t even look at the front seat when usually he insists upon driving himself. The one time they bring Tony with them, Howard pats his son awkwardly on the shoulder and tells him he comported himself well. And Tony _glows_.

Once Tony is back at school, Howard has every bottle of whiskey removed from the house, car, and office. No explanation. 

There’s still rum and ports and the usual array of expensive wine and liquor, of course, but Jarvis has yet to order a replacement bottle for any of them. Sometimes he catches Howard staring at the bottles with a single-minded intensity while his hands press so hard against the glossy wood of his desk that his palms sweat and his eyes, oh his eyes, convey such a depth of regret that Jarvis can feel it from clear across the room. 

Sometimes, after an engineering binge or an exceptionally difficult week, Howard passes on out the couch, or his desk, or the dining room table, or anywhere remotely horizontal. And these are the times that make Jarvis feel optimistic that whatever happened to make Howard reach out to his son will happen again, because Howard shakes and cries and groans in his sleep. Wakes up mumbling, “I’ll _fix_ this, I will. Please.” Wakes up shouting for his son and gasping for breath. 

“Jarvis,” he says, after waking from one such nightmare. “Jarvis, promise me. Promise me you won’t leave Anthony alone.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis says soothingly, fetching Howard a glass of water. “Young Sir is safe here.”

“No. No, Jarvis.” Howard reaches out, gripping Jarvis’s wrist tightly. The move causes Jarvis’ arm to jerk, water sloshing over the rim of the glass and soaking into Howard’s slacks. Howard goes still, fixates on the damp patch of clothing like a man possessed. 

“When he’s older,” he says absently, still staring at his pant leg. “Don’t leave him alone. Keep him safe.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis soothes again, reaching to press a cloth against the spill to absorb the water. 

But Howard looks up before he can, and stares at him with a look that reminds him of soldiers he meets freshly stateside from war; shellshocked and disbelieving that the atrocities are over, with a fragile hope underneath that the worst is behind them. It makes Jarvis pause, has Jarvis laying his hand comfortingly on Howard’s shoulder. “Young Sir will be forever by my side until my passing, Sir. I swear it.”

“Good.” Howard nods absently, slowly breaking eye contact to once again stare at the water. “That’s... yes, that’s good.”

It happens again at Easter break, and Summer holiday. Each school vacation, Tony comes home and Howard and Maria are there. Not all the time, they both work, but when they are there they are _present _.__

__Maria starts laughing again, plays piano with her son, walks barefoot through the gardens with him, and speaks in Italian with a bright smile. Tony wakes up early every day and rushes through his bathroom routine to arrive at the breakfast table rumpled and slightly breathless to have breakfast with his parents with a look of such innocent delight that Ana tears up._ _

__And Howard, Howard actually seems to be trying. Will haltingly ask Tony about his inventions and his school work, and will occasionally pat Tony awkwardly on the shoulder before leaving for work._ _

__The Summer after Tony turns ten Howard does not accompany his expedition team on their search for Captain America. Instead, riding high off Stark Industries’ successful contribution to Grenada, he packs them all up and takes them to California for three weeks while he works on business deals. He makes it a point that Jarvis is to stay with Tony, like he either doesn’t trust himself alone with his son or believes that Jarvis can help Tony in ways that he cannot._ _

__“I wish I was smarter earlier,” Tony softly says one day, when Ana is at the rental resting and Maria and Howard are working and Jarvis and Tony are walking the beach._ _

__“Smarter, Young Sir?” Tony has been quiet since the other night when Howard let him stay up past his bedtime to watch the news together. Jarvis has been waiting for a conversation that he’s sure will cause him heartburn._ _

__“It’s just.” Tony quiets, watching the water ebb and flow gently across his bare feet as they walk. “I think he likes me now, Jarvis. Sometimes he listens to me, and remember that one time he made my design? The robot? I finally am smart enough to be useful and not a disap-.” He cuts himself off abruptly, flushing, but Jarvis finishes the word _disappointment_ mentally, can hear the echo of it from Howard’s drunken bellow and the thud of a slamming door._ _

__“He didn’t even get mad when those kidnappers took me,” Tony adds. “I think he was even proud that I managed to rescue myself?”_ _

__And, oh yes, there’s the heartburn, and heartache, that Tony feels he needs to earn validation when the adults around him failed to protect him._ _

__So smart, his boy, and yet still so naive._ _

__“I just wish I’d been this smart earlier,” Tony whispers, “and then maybe Howard would have liked me enough not to send me away.”_ _

__“Anthony,” Jarvis says quietly, “if you ever feel like you need to earn someone’s love, they are not the kind of people you want in your life.”_ _

__Tony looks dubiously at Jarvis._ _

__“Did you ever think that Howard didn’t deserve your love?” That gets another look, this expression conveying, _he’s my dad_. “Regardless of whether or not the person in question is related to you,” Jarvis continues gently, “there is no obligation to love them. If they make you jump through hoops or prove yourself before deciding you’re worthy of care, _they_ don’t deserve _you_.”_ _

__“But then.” Tony stops himself, frowning, looking down and letting his feet kick up sand. Jarvis gives him a moment to process. “But why now?” Tony finally continues in a small voice. “Why did he suddenly decide he likes me if it's not because I’m useful?”_ _

__Jarvis is quiet again, draping his arm around Tony’s shoulder and pulling the boy gently into his side. Tony goes willingly, reaching up to hold onto Jarvis’ arm and letting his head rest against Jarvis’ ribcage. Jarvis is grateful for the moment, because he doesn’t have an answer._ _

__Luckily, Tony, brilliant, sweet, compassionate Tony, comes up with his own answer. “He drinks less now,” he says thoughtfully, eyes still on the water swirling around their feet. “Maybe he’s happier now and that’s why he likes me?”_ _

__Jarvis thinks of Howard’s nightmares, the way he watches Tony with a puzzled, aching expression, and thinks there’s more to it. But Tony is ten, a child, and with all of the adult responsibilities he already has to shoulder as a Stark and a genius, he deserves this moment of simplistic logic._ _

__“Perhaps just so, Young Sir.”_ _

__Tony smiles, content, and Jarvis hugs him close again._ _

__“Albert Einstein once said, ‘learn from yesterday, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning.’” Tony pipes up, soundly oddly shy. He looks up from the water, blinking up at Jarvis with wide eyes. “I think it’s ok to hope, don’t you, Jarvis?”_ _

__“Always, Young Sir. Always.”_ _

____

~*~*~*

Ana loses her battle with cancer when Tony is fourteen. It’s a difficult year.

The day it happens, Jarvis returns from the hospital, carefully removes his suit and changes into pajamas, brushes his teeth, and then does not, can not, get out of bed for the entirety of the following day. 

He blinks back to consciousness only once, when the bed dips, and for one awful moment he thinks it’s his _libhober_ and the last several months have been a bad dream. But it’s not, it’s Tony, sliding into bed with Jarvis with wild, wet eyes and a trembling mouth. Tony who makes a broken noise and burrows close when Jarvis lifts his arm in welcome. Tony who shakes against Jarvis’ side and physically expresses all the pain that is howling in Jarvis’ heart. Tony, who doesn’t leave Jarvis’ side for three days straight.

Tony, who Howard left work for and brought home from school so he could be here, so he could say goodbye. It is perhaps the single greatest kindness Jarvis can remember Howard doing for him, for them, in recent memory. 

Howard takes the day of the funeral off, awkwardly pats Tony on the shoulder, and doesn’t reprimand his son once for crying. 

One week later they’re back at Tony’s school, clapping as Tony receives his high school diploma. Smiling for photo ops as Tony is presented with an award for the robot with the first functioning AI, DUM-E, that Tony dreamed up and engineered and built. 

“Ana should be here,” Tony whispers later, when most of the press is gone and they’re overseeing DUM-E being loaded into a shipping crate and Maria is waiting in the car. “It feels...” 

Jarvis looks over when Tony trails off, sees him looking up at Howard with a bleak expression, and then watches as Howard flinches and hugs his son for the first time since Tony learned to walk. 

Tony goes rigid with shock, and then melts into it, hugging Howard back desperately. 

“I’m proud of you, Anthony,” Howard whispers. “I know it’s hard to fight when you’re hurting, but you were so strong today.”

Ana would like this, Jarvis thinks. Would affectionately refer to Howard as a bastard and then stuff her baby with cheeseburgers. He turns away from Howard and Tony and uses the car phone to inform the cook to prepare cheeseburgers for dinner. It’ll make Tony smile. 

There’s a car in the driveway when they return home, familiar, but Jarvis can’t quite place it. It’s not until Tony pipes up, “Who’s that?” and Howard answers with, “my business partner, Mr. Stane,” with a grim sort of finality, that Jarvis realizes Mr. Stane has not been to the house uninvited since Tony was eight. 

And it’s not until Howard is briskly informing his son, “be polite but don’t dawdle,” that Jarvis realizes Mr. Stane has not been invited around once when Tony has been home from school.

~*~*~*~

The bottle of coconut brandy shatters upon impact with the wall.

The imported brand, Jarvis mentally notes. That will be an expensive hit to the monthly budget when he orders a replacement. 

Tony ducks and stares at his father wide-eyed, fearful and anxious and confused. From her position on the couch, Maria flinches, reaching up to pat at her carefully coiffed hair before clasping her trembling hands tightly together. Jarvis watches from the doorway, hands going cold and heart starting to pound. 

Howard is _furious_. 

“It was just a couple parties,” Tony whispers. Then he seems to realize he’s whispering and scowls, standing up defiantly proud. “It was just a couple parties,” he repeats louder, shifting his posture until he looks every inch the spoiled brat he is. “I didn’t know the paps would be there but I’ll be aware next time.”

“Next time?” Howard’s voice is so cold, so angry, the smell of liquor so pervasive that it brings back memories of slammed doors and crying. Jarvis can’t help his involuntary twitch. “There will be no next time.”

“Why the hell not?” Tony, so stubborn, so defiant. “I’m in _college_ , dad. It’s not a big deal that I drink at a few parties.”

“Sir,” Jarvis interjects politely, “we should be leaving for the gala.”

“Not a big deal?” Howard takes a deep breath of alcohol-laden air. If anything that seems to enrage him further. “You are _better_ than that, Anthony!”

“Better than _what_ , dad?” Tony bites back. “Better than the other kids at MIT? Better than _you_?”

“YES!” Howard’s bellow shocks them all into stillness. 

There’s a precarious moment when the situation can tilt either one of two ways, and Jarvis isn’t sure what to say to keep the shouting from turning into violence. 

Luckily, Maria does, standing gracefully from the couch and smoothing down her gown. “We’ll finish this discussion later,” she says calmly, only her trembling hands revealing her stress. 

Howard doesn’t move, just stands there staring at his son. “Howard,” she prompts. “The gala?” 

“No,” Howard says, running a hand over his face. “No you stay here with Tony. I’ll go.”

Maria’s brow creases. “Howard?”

“Dad?” Tony looks uncertain now, all his fight gone. 

“Stay here with Tony,” Howard repeats, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Make him stay sober.”

“It was just a party,” Tony insists, a mulish pout forming. 

But then Howard is crossing the room in two quick strides and grabbing Tony up in a fierce hug. Tony freezes again, always uncertain in the face of physical affection from a man who gives so little. 

“You are my son, Anthony,” Howard says hoarsely. “You are my greatest creation and my greatest pride. You are better, more important, than everyone. Including me.” He pulls away and looks directly into Tony’s shocked, wide eyes. “You, coming home smelling of whiskey? This is the only time you have ever disappointed me. Don’t do it again.”

Tony opens his mouth, gapes, and then closes it again, staring at his dad in shock. He’s swallowing hard in a way that usually precludes tears when he nods jerkily. 

Howard nods back. “Good boy.”

He turns and makes an impatient gesture at Jarvis, and Jarvis hands over the keys, remaining in the doorway as Howard marches out the door. It’s only once the door clicks closed that Tony says, “Mama?” in such a lost, broken tone. 

“Oh, il mio bambino,” Maria says softly, so soft with her hormonal, brilliant teenage son, gathering Tony tightly up in a hug when he stumbles into her arms. “You know how he struggles with alcohol, of course he wants better for you.”

Five hours later Jarvis is escorting police officers into the living room, feeling shocked and numb as they explain there’s been a car accident, suspected drunk driving, and Howard is gone. 

Maria is delicate and beautiful and pale as she forces up a semblance of composure and talks to the police officers. Jarvis watches her and feels numb. He knows he should go to her side and assist her in any way she needs. 

But Tony. Tony is standing with his arms crossed protectively over his chest, staring at the carpet. He looks up when Jarvis touches his arm, big eyes wet and wounded. 

“I don’t believe it,” he whispers, glancing at Maria to make sure his voice doesn’t carry. “Jarvis, he was sober.”

Jarvis nods. “Questions later, Sir.” Tony flinches at that - the first time Jarvis has ever called him Sir instead of Young Sir. But he straightens his shoulders, takes in a breath, and when he raises his head the Stark Iron is in every inch of his expression. 

And Jarvis... All Jarvis can do is place a hand on Tony’s shoulder and keep the promise he made to Howard all those years ago. He’ll remain by Tony’s side until he’s taken from this earth. 

Whatever is coming, Tony won’t be alone.

~*~*~*

_”Out of all the shit you heaped on me there’s only two things I actually hate you for.”_

_Tony’s voice is slurred, his empty stomach and alcohol consumption finally dragging him into something like sleep._

_Howard watches his son quietly from the couch, hurting more than he thought was possible. “What’s that?”_

_It takes a moment before Tony blinks his eyes back open. But he doesn’t look at Howard, just reaches forward and drinks the last of **this** bottle of whiskey straight from the jug._

_“First I come home from school to find Ana dead and buried,” he answers, tossing the empty bottle on the floor and watching it slide across the room. “And then when you finally fucked out of my life you took mom with you.”_

_“Why did you do that?” And now he looks at Howard, just a fleeting look from blurry, empty eyes. “Why did you hate me that much?”_

_“I never hated you, Anthony.” Howard’s voice is choked up but it doesn’t matter. Anthony’s head is nodding forward, eyelashes fluttering as he finally passes out._

_“I’ll fix this,” he promises him, carefully reaching out a hand to touch his son’s arm. The skin feels oily and cold, like a figurine from a wax museum instead of a living human. Howard snatches his hand back and rubs his fingers against his pants as he watches the gentle rise and fall of his Tony’s chest._

_“I’ll fix this.”_


	3. 3. Maria

_”I’ll miss you, don’t be a stranger, make new friends, yada yada yada.” Tony makes a flippant gesture toward the machine to accompany his nonsensical rambling, one again not even bothering to turn to look at Howard._

_Tony had slept for one hour and forty-six minutes. The lilting Irish voice in the ceiling had rattled that off soothingly along with the date and time and a reminder that Tony was safe in his tower._

_Not that Howard believed Tony felt all that safe here, judging by the gasping breath he’d jolted awake with, and the terrified, unfocused look he’d cast around the room while jerking on the couch._

_But Howard’s touch wasn’t welcome toward his own son, so he’d sat quietly on the couch until Tony had focused on him. Had watched Tony look vulnerable for a split second before his eyes blanked out._

_Now they’re back in Tony’s lab all set to send Howard away, and Howard is actually ready to go so he can hurry up and **fix this**. _

_Another gesture has Howard stepping up and placing his hand on the device. “Anthony.”_

_“No point in drawn out good-bye’s,” Tony interrupts briskly. “Not like you’ll remember shit.” He scribbles a note on a post-it and slaps it into Howard’s hand._

_Howard curls his hand around the paper and has a moment, a single moment, to look at his son -- so tired and broken and alone -- to smell the whiskey that seems to seep from his pores. The greasy hair, the bags under his eyes, tired tired tired and done, his boy._

_Then Tony is pulling up a hologram with an obnoxiously big red button on it and staring Howard down. “When you wake up feeling hungover in your lab, be nice to mom. God knows she deserved so much better than you.”_

_And Howard is gone._

~*~*~*

She knows about the alcohol dependency before they even become a _them_. That’s not the issue. The issue is her frustration over thinking it would change after Tony is born.

War changes a person. Carves out a chunk of their identity and makes it something new, something harder. And Howard... Howard can’t escape it. 

World War II. The Atomic Bomb. Korean War. Hell, Tony was born at the tail end of the Vietnam War, right when Howard was getting that pinched look to his features. When he would wake up screaming and reach for something alcoholic to burn off the memories. 

Then there was their baby, her perfect little Antonio, their Anthony. So small and fierce and _happy_ , always smiling, their boy. A shining beacon of light that made Howard smile and relax. He fell asleep so many times with baby Anthony sleeping securely against his chest, safe and protected and warm. Maria let herself hope, let herself believe this baby was helping them heal. 

But the sentiment surrounding the Vietnam War didn’t stop just because American involvement was. And, oh, how the protesters hated Howard and Stark Industries. The sit-ins, the riots, the gas bombs, the hateful messages painted on the buildings. 

Warmonger, they called him, screamed at him, spat in his face. 

_How many more children are you going to kill, Mr. Warmonger?_

_It’s always the old to lead us to war. It’s always the young to fall_.

Howard would listen to Tony laugh, watch him toddle around on chubby thighs with a giant grin on his face, and would sip scotch with a bleak look in his eyes. 

And it wasn’t like participating in one war was enough. No, there was always, always preparation for the _next_ war. Of building stronger, bigger bombs -- nothing like the Atomic bomb that Howard still couldn’t forgive himself for making reality -- anything to end wars faster. 

Then there was Peggy Carter, sighing and sipping brandy in the office. “What the people need is a hero. A reminder that they’re fighting for a reason.” She raises her glass in an empty, tired toast. “If only Steve were here.”

Maria thinks of that moment a lot over the years. Thinks of the casual, throwaway comment, and hates Peggy Carter with a ferocity that burns.

Their Tony is kidnapped by the nanny, held for ransom. By the time they get him back, quieter, sucking his thumb while he watches them with big, solemn eyes, Howard is transformed. 

Finding Captain America becomes his obsession. 

Because there’s a chance that the serum could keep Steve alive. Howard can bring home a war hero, and present him to the people in a time when letters and media are widely consumed by the public. They will love him. They will not threaten his child. 

And if Steve is dead? Well, he can still bring him home. Put him to rest on American soil. Remind the people of what a true, dedicated patriot he is. They will not threaten his child. 

Howard is obsessed, Tony is a liability, and Maria is tired. 

It’s easier to hand Tony over to Jarvis and Ana. She trusts them, and, oh, they adore her Antonio. 

They love him, dry his tears, step up when she falters and Howard stops trying except to yell, watch over him when the private tutors are shaking their heads in amazement over how smart, how clever, her darling little boy is. 

Tony builds a circuit breaker. Tony hacks into Howard’s office. Tony builds an engine. Tony hacks NASA and starts outlining plans for a more stream-lined rocket. Tony gets his first patent at the age of five for a rocket launcher that Stark Industries starts producing within a month. 

By the time Howard announces he’s sending their six-year-old to boarding school, it’s almost a relief. She loves her son, adores his clever mind and sassy mouth with every fiber of her being, would start a war and burn the world down to keep him safe. But she doesn’t understand him. 

And there’s a small, selfish part of her heart that hopes absence makes the heart grow fonder. That Howard will put the alcohol down when their son is home. That Tony will miss her and run to _her_ arms instead of Jarvis’. 

She’s resigned herself to the actuality of being more like an aunt to her son than a parent, when Howard’s nightmares change. 

Maria has learned to navigate the night terrors her husband has. Knows which nights he will likely not come to bed at all, can tell by the tremors of his hands and the tick of his eye when she should take sleeping pills and blissfully ignore him or when she needs to stay sharp because his dreams will become physical. 

“I’ll fix it,” Howard mumbles, and Maria’s eyes open. This is new. 

Puzzled, she turns her head and there’s Howard, one hand reaching out imploringly as he -- is he _crying??_ \-- yes, sobs, into his pillow. “Please. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Howard.” She’s gentle, cautious, body tense in case she needs to quickly backtrack and fling herself off the bed. But she can’t ignore this pain, so she reaches out and Howards gasps himself awake. 

“Ssh,” she soothes. “Darling, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Just stares at her with wide, unblinking eyes, and then Howard just... crumples. Reaches for her and rests his head on her breasts as he shakes and sobs against her. It’s been months since they’ve been intimate. Maria doesn’t quite know what to do with this sudden intimacy, this desperate, trusting contact. 

“I’ve ruined him, Maria.” Howard trembles, opening his mouth on a cry of pain so deep it’s wordless. 

“Who?” Maria is desperate in her attempts to soothe. Rubbing his back, petting his head, holding Howard tight and kissing his temple. “Who, darling? Tell me and I’ll help you.”

Whatever she’s expecting to hear -- Jarvis, Obie, the latest soldier the anti-war group is blaming him for -- she’s certainly not expecting him to say, “Anthony,” before breaking down in body-shaking sobs.

The pain he is expressing is bringing tears to her own eyes and _how long_ has it been since their emotions have been honest enough to share? It’s hurting her and healing her, and Maria wraps her arms around her husband and holds on just as tightly, greedy for the honesty of it all after years of hollow words. 

Howard is in agony and Maria is bathing in it. God, they’re so fucked up. 

It takes weeks of soothing, of whispers in the dark, -- “ _I need to fix it!_ ” -- “Tell me, darling. Tell me and I will help you. We can fix this.” And by then Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is upon them and her Antonio, her bright clever boy, is back to giving her shy smiles and hugs and telling her his hopes. 

Howard has been decreasing his alcohol consumption while Tony has been home, but once he’s returned to boarding school after the New Year he stops cold turkey.

She wakes up and Howard has sweated through the mattress. Is vomiting all across the carpet to the bathroom and still going. Is shivering and trembling like a junkie while he cries and begs a God he doesn’t believe in to help him. 

“Influenza,” Maria tells the reporters with a graceful bob of her head, a helpless flutter of her wrist, and a sad smile. “We’re all on quarantine so as to not make anyone else sick as Howard heals. And we’re just heart-broken to be missing so many opportunities to give back that we’ve established a charity for sick children who are not blessed with the resources we have at our disposal. Details will be announced once Howard is no longer contagious.”

Obie she lets in the room, smothering her smile with a practiced ease when he stops in the doorway and wrinkles his nose in disgust of the pervasive scent of vomit. 

“Don’t worry about the board, Howie,” he booms, laughing heartily. “I’ll cover the meetings and you just concentrate on getting better.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to Maria’s cheek. “You call me, now, if there’s anything you need. Anything to get our boy back up and running.”

“Of course, dear.” Her laugh is light and affectionate, as is the hand she presses gently to Obie’s chest. “You stay healthy - can’t have both my men sick on me.”

She stops smiling when he’s out of sight, exchanging a loaded look with Jarvis. Howard wakes up muttering about keeping Tony away from Obie, and she may not know what’s going on but she will honor that. 

Six weeks later she buys a new bed, rips out the carpet, and redoes the entire room. 

A framed picture sits on Howard’s nightstand, of a beaming Tony walking forward on unsteady legs, both arms lifted up toward a grinning Howard. On the wet bar in his office, a picture of Tony sitting on Howard’s lap, grinning up at Howard around the screwdriver stuck in his mouth as Howard laughs down at him. 

Maria has been married for twelve years and a mother for almost nine when she learns to re-like her husband.

~*~*~

The Summer after Anthony turns ten they spend almost a month in California.

It’s the first time in eight years that Howard’s obsession with Captain America mellows more into a hobby, a pastime, and he prioritizes his family above Steve Rogers. Not that they have a lot of down time, because Howard is busy. They both are. 

Maria is still unsure whether Howard’s dreams are prophetic or inspired by guilt, but he acts like a man haunted by time and she can’t stand it. They have a deal: his sobriety for her full participation. 

So she throws herself into charities, smiles and laughs and graces the society pages as the philanthropist the world deserves. The media gobbles her up, adores her, as she smiles and presses them exactly where she wants them. And Howard cleans up; does what he needs to do to keep SHIELD away from his son, makes sure Tony is set to inherit everything if anything happens to him. Puts the extra company shares he was going to gift to Obediah in a trust for Tony instead. 

They have breakfast with Tony most mornings, occasionally dinner. Maria feels guilty about this, but Tony is healthy and shining in the California sun, seems happier every day after walking with Jarvis along the coast, so she tables the feelings of inadequacy and moves on. 

Tony grows and matures and dazzles everyone with his terrifying brilliance, the cadence of his thoughts. 

Howard builds a second lab under the house. 

Thank God for Jarvis. Maria still feels like an afterthought of a parent, but she is trying her best. And Howard -

“Dad?” Tony bites his lip, poking at his scrambled eggs. 

“Anthony,” Howard replies, turning the page of his newspaper. 

“So you know how I like robots, right?” Tony’s voice is tentative, as are the little looks he keeps shooting over at his father. 

“Anthony, what have I said about suppositions?” He flicks a corner of his paper down and gives Tony a stern look. “Stark men are made of iron. If you act like your thoughts are nugatory, you will be treated thusly. If you have a point, make it.”

Her baby is only fourteen and off to college in a week. She frowns at Howard, pursing her lips when he ignores her. 

But Tony is straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin, voice firm if a little shaky. “I don’t want to build weapons anymore.”

Maria can’t help the quick intake of breath, or the way her heart starts to pound. 

Very deliberately, Howard folds the newspaper and places it next to his plate. He clasps his hands together and stares Tony down. Tony’s hand jerks, and he quickly puts his fork down like that was his intention all along. 

“And you think robotics are the way of the future?” Howard’s voice is calm, face impassive. 

“Better than-” Tony cuts himself off, clears his throat. “I don’t want to hurt people,” he says firmly. “I want to build things that will _help_ people. There is so much. There are so many ways technology can help people. I can _see_ them, Dad. I _dream_ about them.”

Maria feels reality splinter, feels herself disassociate. 

Because on one hand, all Maria can think is that _any other time_ and this conversation wouldn’t have even gotten this far. Howard was so angry before the dreams, so certain that Captain America was the only thing of merit in his life. So content to let alcohol be the one source of ease in his life. But. 

But now Howard is sober. Stays home more and interacts with Tony on his school breaks. Supports his inventions. Shares meals and conversations. _Grieved_ with his son over Ana. Has promised to escort Tony to MIT and stay for lunch once Tony is settled. 

If he fucks everything up now Maria is going to slice his jugular right here at the breakfast table. 

Jarvis is proficient - he’ll help dispose of the body and will know how best to clean up without ruining the hardwood.

Howard keeps staring at Tony. 

“Life and death go hand and hand, son,” he says at last. “Life can change in the blink of an eye and it will not always go in your favor. More often than not, your wants and your reality will not correlate.”

Tony looks mulish and opens his mouth to argue, but Howard shuts him up by saying, “I wanted to build flying cars.”

“What?” Tony blinks. Maria watches Howard carefully. 

“I wanted to build flying cars,” Howard repeats. “And airplanes, helicopters, you name it I wanted to build it.” He takes a deep breath and his face pinches. Maria stretches out her leg until it’s pressed against Tony’s, smiling faintly when he presses back against her without looking away from Howard. 

“I showed my hand too early,” he says at last. “I let someone I thought I could trust see what I was capable of, and the next thing I knew I was building bombs and guns and every weapon I could dream of.” He grimaces. “I’m a genius,” he adds, like that explains everything. Tony nods in agreement so Maria supposes it does. 

“Your talent is unlimited, Tony,” Howard continues, “and the technological advancements will let you create things I can barely imagine. If you become a weapons manufacturer I have no doubt your accomplishments will be superior to anyone else.” 

He gets a funny look there, something haunted. “If you want to expand out of weapons, I will support you. But it will be up to you to sell it to the board and investors. Don’t let anyone, no matter how well meaning, manipulate you into doing what only they want, or it’ll be fifty years before you even look at your blueprints for a flying car again. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

“I.” Tony blinks, a little overwhelmed. Clearly, this conversation did not go the way he envisioned. “Yes, Sir.” Maria smiles, sipping at her coffee. Oh her baby, her brave brave boy. 

Howard gets up from the table. Kisses Maria’s cheek and pats Tony on the shoulder before leaving for work. 

And her beloved Antonio smiles at the table. A small, shy, wondering little smile.

~*~*~

Maria thinks of that smile as she watches her son and James Rhodes stare at the smoldering embers of the fire. Guiltily, she’s happy there’s someone who can be there for Tony in the way she never quite learned how to be.

The morning after the sleepless night when Howard died starts with Obediah Stane knocking on the door and asking after Tony, entering the library with condolences on his lips only to falter, just for a second, upon seeing Maria seated upon the couch in her dressing gown. 

“I’m so sorry,” Obie recovers smoothly, walking toward Maria with arms outstretched. Maria dodges the grip by merely extending one arm, letting her other hand flutter against her chest as she stares down at her lap. Obie doesn’t recognize her reaction as the rebuff it is and clasps her hand gently between his, bringing it to his mouth to kiss her wrist. “I’m so happy to see you, Maria. I feared I lost both of you.”

The words, gesture, and facial expression are all sincere, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze that belies everything. 

Maria looks to her son, sitting across the room in Howard’s chair, and knows he picked up on that lapse as well. Her darling, clever boy. 

Obie follows her gaze and smiles sympathetically upon seeing Tony. “Oh, my boy.” He reaches out and Tony isn’t quite accomplished at misdirection enough to evade as Obie pulls him into a hug. 

Maria will have to work on that. 

When she has time, that is, which will not be today. For now she is busy ordering her husband’s body to be moved to their private clinic, dodging the press, screening calls, deciding on a day for the funeral, and organizing a board meeting for later in the week. 

Thank God for Jarvis. He forces Tony into the shower, lets Tony fall asleep in his arms, and makes sure they all eat. She wants to speak with her son, console him, but her head is spinning and everything just feels wrong without the larger-than-life presence of Howard by her side. 

The knowledge that the people you love will one day leave you does not, in any way, prepare for the actuality of _loss_. 

And... Maria has never learned the knack of communicating with her son. Lord above she loves him, but it’s just so much easier with Jarvis around. 

It takes three days for her to receive Howard’s death certificate, with photos and bloodwork and even a urine test, which the medical examiner at first conducted just to pacify her but then found suspicious when he came back from storing the samples to find SHIELD demanding possession of the body. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve lied to the government,” he mutters, looking around her drawing room nervously. “But it’s the first time I’ve even actually felt _threatened_ by it.” He gives the refrigerated bag a gentle pat. “Store these somewhere safe, Maria. I’m taking early retirement.”

Four days from Christmas Jarvis answers the call box and notifies security to block the press as he opens the gate. The young man that jumps out of the taxi and jogs to the door is tall, handsome, and doesn’t get a chance to introduce himself to Maria before Tony yells, “RHODEY!” and throws himself into Rhodey’s arms. 

“Sir’s closest confidant and former roommate from MIT,” Jarvis says quietly, “James Rhodes.” Maria should know this, she _should_. She’s Tony’s _mother_. But apparently knowing who is important to her son is one more aspect of parenting she lost when she gave Tony to Jarvis. 

The boys disappear into the house, but they reappear the next morning all dressed up for the funeral. Tony actually smiles when Rhodey blushes after Maria says, “You look very handsome, James. We’re so grateful you could join us today.”

She’s waylaid by Obediah and various business and social obligations, but one glance at James has him looping his arm around her Tony and leading him to Jarvis and _away_ , so smoothly, that Jarvis is driving before Obie even notices. What a smart boy, that James. She likes him already. 

By the time she returns to the manor, Tony and James have collected every bottle of alcohol in the house and are pouring it on a blazing bonfire in the backyard. 

Maria’s... honestly not sure if she should be concerned by this. Should she... do something?

But Tony is crying for the first time since Howard passed and James is hugging him so hard Tony is practically in his lap, so she orders her PA to get some presents for James under the tree and goes to lie down. 

The fire burns for three days straight. It’s not until Christmas Eve that it starts to wane, and it’s while she’s watching the boys through the window that Roberta calls. 

She picks up the phone when Jarvis heads outside to collect James. “Thank you,” she says softly, to a woman she’s never met, “for giving me your son for Christmas. I honestly don’t know what.” She has to cut herself off abruptly as her throat closes up, suppressed sobs making her jaw ache.

Roberta doesn’t say anything aside from a few murmured, “Hush now, it’ll be alright.”

They breathe together while Maria collects herself, and for the first time in a long time Maria feels like someone is relating to her as a mother and not a society darling and doesn’t find her wanting. It’s the strangest, warmest sensation.

“Send me yours for the New Year,” Roberta says just as the boys enter through the back door. “I’ll feed him up and get him back safe to school.”

Maria looks at the boys, tired but calm and still draped all over each other, and simply says, “yes.”

They get through Christmas. 

The night before Tony is to leave Maria enters her bedroom to find Tony sitting on Howard’s side of the bed, looking at the picture of baby Tony walking to his father. 

“Mama,” Tony whispers, “should I stay? I should stay. There’s so much to do with the company, and I can’t leave you here all alone. I’ll finish this semester and then I’ll come home. Ok?”

 _Yes_ , Maria wants to say. _Yes, my beautiful boy, stay close to me, stay home, where Jarvis and I can protect you. I am so terribly, terribly afraid that whoever killed your father is going to target you and I can’t lose you, mio figlio, I can’t bear it._

“Nonsense, darling,” is what she says briskly, reaching down to brush curls out of her beautiful boy’s face. “You are going to school, you are getting at least four doctorates, and you are not going to worry about me.”

Oh, her Tony looks so haunted, so unhappy, when he looks up at her. “Mama.”

It breaks her, as a mother, in a way she didn’t know she could be broken. Much like Howard’s nightmares, she finds the sensation as invigorating as it is painful. 

“Your father kept that by his bedside to remind himself he had a reason to remain sober,” she says gently. Tony’s hands convulse around the picture, his mouth trembling as he looks down at their smiles. 

Carefully, because her baby deserves the mercy of a loving touch, she reaches out and lifts her son's face until he stares her in the eye. “Take it to school with you,” she orders softly, “and let it be _your_ reminder to find your flying car.”

She can see the exact second the memory comes to Tony, feels the way it affects him in the way his entire body starts to shake. “Mama,” he whispers, so heartbroken, always feeling everything so strongly. 

And just as she held Howard through his nightmares, Maria takes a fortifying breath, sits beside her son on the bed, and holds him as he sobs.

~*~*~

Nineteen-ninety-six quickly turns into the worst year of Maria’s life.

Her darling son, her beloved bambino, turns twenty-two and graduates with his _fifth_ doctorate and a cheeky smirk. To smoothly transition into taking over as the face of Stark Industries, Tony is sent on a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. 

The convoy is attacked. Tony is missing. 

One week later Civil War breaks out in Afghanistan and the search for her baby is put on hold. 

There is nothing she can do to help him at this time, according to the government. The search will resume once the situation is under control. 

But Maria is a Stark, and Stark’s are made of iron. 

She helped her husband sober up and kept his secrets. She held Stark Industries together after her husband died. She maintained her status as an adored and beloved and charitable figure while acting CEO of a weapons manufacturing company. She supported her son and kept _him_ sober. 

And six weeks after her son goes missing she finds Captain America and smuggles him to Howard’s lab to defrost. 

This can go one of two ways, she thinks, as she stares at the melting ice block surrounding Steve. Either he’s dead and she can barter his corpse to the Army in return for assistance in finding Tony, or he’s alive and she can send him out on a retrieval mission. 

Cold-hearted, maybe, but this is _her son_. 

He lives. 

Well, shit. Maria has no idea what to do with a traumatized, not-dead soldier she doesn’t really care about, and so few people she trusts. 

Roberta arrives with a questioning look, but maintains her silence until Maria has finished explaining her dilemma over brunch. 

“Do you think you can help me?” Maria is so tired, so worried about her baby. She’s actually a little annoyed that Steve didn’t have the grace to stay dead. “He’s going to be shocked when he awakens. Angry, probably. He’s missed so much.”

At that, Roberta eyes Maria steadily, a grim purse to her lips. “I know you were a little distracted in ‘91 when your husband died, but I’d think even living in your manor you weren’t oblivious to what happened with Rodney King.”

There are so few people who can make Maria feel ashamed anymore. Roberta Rhodes is one of them. 

But she’s also gracious, and only lets the silence linger until she feels her point has been made. “I have experience talking traumatized, angry men down from making dangerous life choices,” Roberta says. “Of course I’ll help you. 

Steve wakes with a near silent inhalation of air an hour after Jarvis suspected he would, so Maria and Roberta are sitting there with a serviette tray nicely arranged on the table next to his bed when those blue, blue eyes snap to her face. 

Oh my, he is a handsome one. She can maybe almost forgive Peggy for wanting him to still be around.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” Maria says warmly, once Roberta lifts an eyebrow at her and makes it clear she won’t be starting the conversation. “I am Maria Stark.”

“Stark?” His voice is rough from disuse. “Where am I?”

“Yes, Stark,” She answers brightly, reaching over to pour the tea into three sturdy mugs. “I believe you knew my husband, Howard.”

“How-” He breaks off, eyes narrowing. “Knew?”

So smart, this Captain. So quick on the uptake. So useful. 

“Yes, dear. I’m afraid you’ve been asleep for quite awhile.” Roberta gestures to the tray with a delicate flick of her wrist. “Tea?”


	4. 4. Tony

Tony is fifteen the first time he gets drunk at a party. Sixteen the first time he lets someone lick a sugar cube into his mouth and trips out on LSD. Seventeen the first time the press gets wind of his partying attitude and he makes the gossip rags. 

Seventeen when, _”This is the only time you have ever disappointed me.”_

Oh, _God_ , he wants a drink. Wants the flush of warmth, the haze that dulls his senses and slows his thoughts, the way it’s so easy to relax and laugh and let go. 

_” Don’t do it again.”_

It’s easier with Rhodey around. Rhodey lets Tony crawl into his bed at night, makes sure he eats, throws a protective arm over Tony’s shoulders when he’s standing alone in the dark and just doesn’t know what to do. But Rhodey is six years older than Tony and this is his last year. 

“California,” Tony climbs into Rhodey’s bed and blurts one night. He thinks it’s night. It’s not light out, anyways. Rhodey groans into his pillow but doesn’t throw Tony out of his bed, so Tony takes that as a win. “You said your exams are weird this year because of the Air Force, right? That you’ll be studying and testing during Spring Break? So let’s take a late Spring Break and call it an early birthday for me and go to California for a few days.”

Rhodey mumbles something that Tony deciphers as concern over Tony’s classes, but Tony is a genius and rich and the son of a famous person who recently died. Tony has no doubts he can get the time off. 

California is great. They surf and swim and laze in the sun and do every tourist thing Rhodey can think of. 

Then Maria calls. “Darling, something has come up and the flight has been changed. You need to be at the airport in two hours.”

“What?” Rhodey looks up from where he’s lounging in the hammock off the balcony of the hotel room. “But we’re supposed to be here for three more days. Why do we have to come home now?” 

He makes a face at Rhodey, but Rhodey gets a weird expression and climbs out of the hammock. 

“Antonio.” There is a sharpness in his mother’s voice that he hasn’t heard since she used to mediate his fights with Howard. Tony flinches. Somehow his mom must know, because she softens her tone and croons at him. “ _il mio amore_ , all will be well. Please don’t argue with me now.”

“Yes, Mama.” Tony watches Rhodey finish packing his bag and move on to packing Tony’s. 

“Two hours, _bambino_. Promise me.”

“ _Lo prometto_.” 

“What do you think happened?” The look on Rhodey’s face has freaked Tony out enough that it’s not until they’re on the private jet and buckling their seatbelts that the words come tumbling out. 

“They’re going to let them off,” Rhodey answers in a tight, rigidly controlled voice. 

“Who?” Rhodey looks so angry that Tony is tentative when he reaches out to gently touch Rhodey’s arm. 

And for a moment Rhodey just looks at Tony’s hand so pale against his dark skin. Tony feels anxious, is truly afraid that Rhodey is about to fling him away. But the moment breaks and Rhodey picks up Tony’s trembling hand and laces their fingers together. “The cops who beat Rodney King.”

L.A. is burning, they can see it from the window as the plane soars away. And even though Tony can’t know exactly what is happening on the ground, he has an eidetic memory and can tell the smoke is rising two blocks from their hotel. 

Roberta is waiting for them when the plane enters their private hanger. Rhodey goes tense all over again and glares at his mother, but Roberta just crosses her arms over her chest and stares him down. 

She speaks without looking away from James. “Tony, baby, go on to the car with Jarvis while I have a chat with my son.”

Tony feels that familiar swell of anxiety, that part of him that is perpetually six and watching Jarvis drive away and leave him at boarding school. He hates feeling like this. He wants to drink until the sensation is gone. Barring that, he definitely doesn’t want to leave Rhodey’s side, fisting his hands in Rhodey’s t-shirt and clinging. “I promised my mom,” he says, lamely. 

Roberta softens, looking away from James to smile at Tony. “I know, baby. You did good.” She nods her head toward the car. “Go on now.”

The tone is so reminiscent of Ana that Tony finds himself obeying instinctively. 

They stay with Roberta for the next six days, and Tony finds himself wishing for the relaxation of the California sun. They watch the news a lot, Roberta standing sentinel over them all. Jeanette sits close to her brother, and they don’t mean to exclude Tony, he knows that, but his childhood was boarding schools and mansions and privilege. He never flinched every time he heard a siren. 

Back at MIT Rhodey still watches out for him, but he works out more, studies harder. It occurs to Tony that for however strong his childhood made him, Rhodey is stronger. And that... it makes Tony uneasy, that they’ve been friends for three years and he doesn’t understand such an important aspect of his best friend’s character. 

Thank fuck for sex. 

He can’t bring himself to drink with his dad’s words haunting his dreams, but sex? Oh, man, he throws himself into sex. He lets himself drown in heavy musk and cucumber melon, Exclamation perfume and Polo Sport. Let’s orgasms be the thing that keeps him relaxed when his world keeps changing. 

Still, he’s lonely. Has trouble sleeping. Wants someone all his own who can help him navigate his genius and his nightmares without making him feel ashamed of being clingy and desperate.

It makes him want Jarvis. 

But Jarvis is helping Maria. Tony knows Jarvis would come to him if Tony asks, but that would be selfish. It’s only been months since Howard passed, but Rhodey is leaving him and his worldview is changing and everything is just _too much_ and Tony is needy needy needy. 

So he starts building himself a Jarvis he can keep forever. A Jarvis he won’t have to share with Maria. With anyone.

~*~*~*

In 1989, Tony calls Jarvis the night the Berlin wall falls. It’s late, and he’ll be home in a few weeks for Thanksgiving, but Rhodey drags him out of his lab and they curl up together on the bed and spend the next three days watching thousands of people climb onto the wall and cheer and chant. It’s mesmerizing.

When the sledge hammers and chisels start coming out, Tony scrambles for the phone and dials without looking away from the tv. “J,” he breathes. 

“I’m watching.” Jarvis answers like he knew it would be Tony on the other end of the line. And it’s quiet, comforting, as they listen to each other breathe, until a man holds up a chunk of the wall for the cameraman with a crazy grin on his face. Then, Jarvis makes a choking, pained noise. 

“Ana would like this,” Tony whispers, feeling himself tear up. Ana had hated the wall since its conception, saying it reminded her too much of when the Nazi’s came to Hungary. 

Jarvis hums in agreement. “The wall coming down and her baby in college? This would be a banner year for our Ana.”

There’s such warmth in Jarvis’ tone that it floods through Tony, makes him feel so loved he could burst from it. 

Tony clings to that memory of warmth when he wakes up in agonizing pain in a cave in Afghanistan. There’s a hole in his chest and someone... is someone putting his hand inside Tony? His body shuts down in self defense. 

Only, when he awakens his chest hurts and his entire body is aching like every muscle had tensed up all at once. 

But then there’s someone else, different hands and voices, and Tony is drowning and he hurts and he wants to go home, but where is home? Is he alone? And his dad doesn’t want him to drink but there’s water in his mouth, over and over, and Tony laughs and tries to apologize to his dad but everything goes dark. 

Tony...loses time. He isn’t sure how much time he loses until he remembers he’s a Stark and Stark men are made of iron, but things get marginally better once he does. 

The man who saved his life is named Ho Yinsen, and he rubs Tony’s back at night and tells him he has to live, has to make something of himself, because Yinsen has a daughter. Her name is Toni, just like him, and so Yinsen will care for Tony the same way he cares for his Toni, and that love will get them through. 

Yinsen reminds Tony of Ana and Jarvis, of Roberta. Of the way Howard was so clearly uncomfortable with physical contact but reached out to Tony as best he could anyway. Of the gleam in Maria’s eyes when she was ready to go to war on Tony’s behalf. 

Howard’s voice is in his ear, whispering, “ _People interpret gentleness as weakness and they will twist it until you burn, until you feel like your soul is shattering and I don’t want that for you_.” It’s comforting, when Tony is so cold and scared and sick. 

_Iron_ , he thinks. Stark men are made of iron. He won’t get out of here, won’t get Yinsen out of here, if he breaks. So Tony stands up. Smiles his politician smile that Maria had taught him by the age of four. Turns on the charm and the charisma and becomes Iron Man. 

Yinsen is the only one who recognizes how amazing it is that Tony miniaturizes and creates the arc reactor out of a box of scraps. Yinsen is the one who recognizes the fact that their captors respect his Muslim religion and begs Allah for forgiveness as he skips his five prayers to help Tony when they’re guaranteed privacy. Yinsen is the one who rubs Tony’s shoulders and whispers encouragement and keeps Tony going when the pain in his chest is overwhelming and it's hard to work with his hands shaking and he can’t breathe. 

And Yinsen is the one who is hovering by the cave entrance when the screams and gunfire start and rushes back to Tony. 

“We will go now, yes?” He encourages, helping Tony remove the carefully hidden bombs. 

“What?” Tony looks at his partially constructed suit. “But we’re not ready. I need a couple more weeks on the suit.”

“Something is happening,” Yinsen urges, picking up a gauntlet and thrusting it at Tony. “A perfect distraction. We will go now and Allah will see us through.”

A guard is coming down the hall, there’s no time to think. But Tony will be damned if he leaves Yinsen behind, so he quickly grabs the other gauntlet and starts connecting them to the arc reactor. 

He turns just in time to repulsor blast the guard away from where he’s fighting with Yinsen. “At least put the chest plate on,” he says in exasperation as Yinsen grabs the guards gun and makes to leave the cave. 

They take out three more guards and manage to bomb two of the trucks and the arsenal closest to them. But they are malnourished and flagging and almost out of ammo and Tony is genuinely considering throwing himself repulsor-first into the fight and allowing Yinsen to escape when a flying metal disc arcs through the air and takes out the three guards cornering them.

Whatever Tony is expecting, it’s not to turn around and see a Captain America cosplayer racing over to them.

“Nice cosplay,” Tony greets, because what the actual fuck. “But Comic Con isn’t until summer. And is usually in San Diego, not Afghanistan.”

“Comic Con?” The cosplayer looks slightly confused as he collects his -- great attention to detail -- shield and positions himself to best scan the area. “That anything like science fiction conventions? We had those in the thirties. Would be nice to see something is still the same.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Tony blasts another building as Yinsen collects a gun and nods very rapidly. “Yeah. Sure,” he tries again. “I’ll take you this summer.”

And the Captain America wannabe just lights up. “Gee, thanks! That sounds fun!”  


Tony wants to ask more questions, fighting for his life or not, but then a blonde chick literally _flies_ in and sends a massive energy blast _from her hands_ , and Tony is too busy grabbing Yinsen and running for his life. 

Later, there’s hospital beds and SHIELD agents and Tony having a panic attack when a nurse tries to bathe him, and he loses time again. He comes to ridiculously early in the morning, with Captain America reading quietly by his bedside. 

“You’re Captain America,” Tony says, obviously. 

“You can call me Steve,” Captain America answers, giving him a friendly, hopeful smile. 

“Sure. Yeah.” Tony nods a bit more. “Steve? How long was I there?”

Steve’s face goes soft in a way Tony has ever seen Rhodey look at him. “A little over three months.”

“Yinsen?”

“Your buddy?” Steve looks to the doorway like it’ll magically produce him. “I think he’s asleep? His family is being flown in. Should be here in a few hours.”

“Good.” Tony blinks furiously, feeling his hands start to shake and his jaw get tight. Steve is watching him intently. “Why wasn’t Rhodey the one to come find me? WHy isn’t he _here_?”

“Rhodey?” Steve’s voice is soft and careful. Tony wonders what he must look like right then. 

“Yeah. James Rhodes. Air Force. He’s my-.” Tony cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to describe their relationship. James Rhodes is his best friend, his brother, the person he trusts more than anyone, everything he needs to feel safe. 

But it’s ok because Steve must read that on his face and reaches out to hold Tony’s hand. “Ah. _That_ Rhodey. He’s safe. He just didn’t have the authority to sanction missions. But James called earlier and said,” Steve clears his throat, eyes twinkling with mischief, “‘ _Next time wait two more promotions before getting kidnapped, asshole, or I’m leaving your dumb ass in the desert._ ’”

That’s just. That’s. Tony starts to laugh, and then he’s crying, big body shaking sobs as he clutches Steve’s hand and completely loses his shit. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, just lets him cry and then gives him a cloth to wipe his face with. 

“Steve?” He questions later, once it’s quiet and he can hear the reassuring and annoying beep of machines.

“Yeah?”

“There was a flying chick there too, right? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

“Oh, yeah, Captain Marvel,” Steve says nonchalantly. “She’s an alien that was in town helping Agent Fury of SHIELD stop the Kree from killing off another race of aliens called the Skrull. She was visiting with her girlfriend Maria before leaving the planet but agreed to assist in your rescue before leaving Earth to help the galaxy.” Steve casually turns another page in his book. “She’s actually the one who pinpointed your location. SHIELD and I were just her backup.”

“Right.” Tony blinks rapidly, mind whirling. “I was gone for three months and aliens are real.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Steve drops his book and looks endlessly relieved. “That’s new to you, too? I was asleep for fifty years and after I woke up everyone just talked about it like it was perfectly normal.”

“Yeah, not just you.” Tony will deny it until his dying day, but when Steve grins at him and reaches out to squeeze his hand again, Tony feels safe. 

It doesn’t get any easier once he’s home. 

Turns out the one to schedule the hit on Tony was Obediah Stane, CFO of Stark Industries. In between clutching at Tony and sobbing all over him, Maria is busy juggling the company and the press to mitigate the fallout. 

And Roberta is there, apparently living with them now. Tony watches Steve alternate between the gym, the kitchen, and following Roberta around like a duckling, before fleeing to the safety of his mother.

“Well, Steve needed someone to help him, didn’t he?” Maria asks logically as she pins her hair and fusses with her makeup. “And I couldn’t very well give him Jarvis.”

“Why not?” Tony asks indignantly from where he’s sprawled out on his mother's bed. “Jarvis is awesome.”

Maria pauses, turning to give him a gentle smile. “ _Si, amore mio_ , Jarvis is wonderful. But he’s also _yours_.”

That makes Tony feel warm, has color blushing his cheeks, but Maria just watches him intently before abruptly standing and stepping away from her vanity. “Come, Antonio.”

“Mama?” Tony is startled enough to stand up automatically when Maria holds out a hand to him. 

“Ssh ssh ssh.” Maria hushes him with a kiss on his forehead. “Come with your mother, _carissimo_.”

She leads him down the stairs and to Howard’s study, where a hidden button has a door swinging open in the wall. 

“We have a secret room?” he asks excitedly. 

Maria just smiles and hands Tony a key. “Your father built it when you were younger,” she explains. “Said I would know when the time was right to give you your own lab.”

“My own...” Tony trails off, overwhelmed. He has cried more in the last year than he has in his entire life. “Mama?”

“Make it your own,” she says simply, before giving him another kiss and walking away. 

Tony puts on a Batman t-shirt and takes Steve to Comic Con the following Summer. While he flashes the peace sign and takes pictures with anyone brave enough to approach him, Steve excitedly takes pictures with a teenager dressed like Frankenstein, a dude dressed as The Invisible Man, and a drag queen dressed as Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde.

~*~*~

Jarvis, the human, dies before the palladium poisoning has progressed too far.

Tony is selfishly grateful that after everything, Jarvis will not have to watch him die as well. 

It’s been relatively easy to hide his condition from his family. Rhodey only comes home on leave. Maria has thrown herself back into her charity work now that Tony has assumed more responsibility at SI. Roberta splits her time between the mansion, her own work, and going to visit Jeanette at college. Steve is distracted by missions, Peggy’s newest grandchild and the president being embroiled in the Monica Lewinski scandal. 

The only one who ever watched Tony closely enough to notice behavioral changes was Jarvis. 

Jarvis, who smiles at him and holds his hand in a weak, shaky grip. Jarvis who lovingly calls him, ‘Young Sir,” as a tear slides down his wrinkled cheek. Jarvis, who sighs, and then stills. 

“Tell me something positive,” he asks his PA later that night. There’s poison vying with grief in his heart and Tony’s honestly not sure which one will kill him faster.

Virginia Potts is silent for a moment. “The press is vilifying Justin Hammer over Terry Nichols,” she says at last. Tony looks at her questioningly and she cracks a small smile. “Your name isn’t synonymous with bombs anymore.”

Tony is surprised by his snort of amusement. “Take the day off tomorrow, Pepper.”

She lowers her chin and gives Tony an utterly unimpressed look, ignoring the nickname. “I am covering meetings for you all day tomorrow. I’ll take Friday off.” Pepper takes a moment to straighten the stack of papers on his desk before scooping them efficiently into her arms. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all, Miss Potts.”

“Jarvis,” he whispers, once he’s alone. “Give her a raise.”

“Of course, Sir.” His AI has grown so much in the last few years. Tony can hear the compassion in his voice and feels comforted. “May I recommend returning to your home laboratory for further blood testing?”

Tony finds the answer he’s searching for in a home movie. It’s a throwaway comment, a sigh as Howard expresses irritation for being interrupted. _My greatest creation _, he refers to Tony. And he might not even think twice about it except Howard always made it a point to call him that in emotionally charged scenarios. So he watches the clip again. A third time. And then the Expo changes and he can _see_. __

__“Hey, Steve?” Tony pokes his head into the gym. It’s two in the morning, obviously Steve is in the gym which saves Tony the trouble of waking him up. “Need your help a minute, buddy.”_ _

__“What’s up?” Steve is sweating and breathing hard, he must have been at this for hours._ _

__“Need your help knocking out a wall and ripping up a concrete floor.”_ _

__Steve blinks. “And this can’t wait until later?”_ _

__“Well, my blood toxicity level is rising and I’d like to resolve this before I die of heavy metal poisoning.”_ _

__“WHAT?!”_ _

__Maria comes down around four thirty, with her sleep mask pushed up to her forehead and her gauzy pink robe floating around her._ _

__“Sorry, Mama.” Tony is panting, sweating so hard the arc reactor is shining visibly through his shirt. “Did we wake you?”_ _

__Pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, Maria sighs to herself before lowering her hand and looking around the room. Tony watches her take in the different models of the Iron Man suit he’s never admitted to wearing, before focusing on the missing wall, large hole in the ground, and Steve standing there awkwardly holding a demolition hammer and trying to smile._ _

__“Why?” She asks wearily._ _

__Tony blanks for a second and shares a loaded look with Steve. He doubts either one of them are strong enough to tell his mother that he’s dying. “Because particle accelerators are heavy and I’ll be able to build one faster with Steve’s help?”_ _

__Maria puts both hands on her hips and frowns at them. “I am very disappointed in you,” she says severely, and Tony feels his heart drop._ _

__But Maria continues before Tony embarasses himself by crying or throwing up. “No proper eyewear or gloves. _Look_ , at your hands, Antonio. You are bleeding!”_ _

__“Shallow cuts,” Tony says faintly, feeling fairly sick with relief that his mother doesn’t seem to hate him. Or maybe from the poison._ _

__“Twelve hours of labor to bring you into this world,” Maria says forbiddingly. “Not to mention how long it took me to teach those beautiful hands to play piano.”_ _

__“Gloves.” Tony nods. “I’ll put gloves on. Gotcha, Mama.”_ _

__“I bled for eight days after you were born.” Maria continues ruthlessly._ _

__“Glasses!” Tony yelps, cringing. “Lab safety is important. I’m sorry, Mama, I won’t forget again.”_ _

__“And you,” Maria turns on Steve. Tony has to suppress a hysterical urge to laugh when Steve straightens and drops into parade rest. “Weeks I spent finding you, nurturing you back to health. Loving you like one of my own. _è così che mi ringrazi_?” _ _

__“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” Steve turns those big blue eyes on Maria, looking truly repentant. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”_ _

__“See that it doesn’t.” Maria sniffs and smooths her hair before smiling tiredly at them. “I’ll go put a fresh pot of coffee on.’_ _

__“That’s it?” Tony blinks. “That’s your only concern?” Tony looks around the filthy, half-destroyed room. “Lab safety?”_ _

__“Darling.” And now Maria goes soft, practically cooing at Tony from her spot on the stairs. “You had a three day bonfire when your father died. This?” She waves an encompassing hand at the room. “I know what Jarvis means to you. I will support you however you grieve just so long as you do it safely.”_ _

__That. Oh. Tony feels tears gathering at her tender smile. He _is_ grieving, but he’s also _lying_ to her by omission. _ _

__“She’s going to kill me if you die,” Steve says, running a filthy hand over his sweaty face. Tony kind of hates how unfairly attractive he looks, even now._ _

__Tony lives. Maria cries._ _

__Steve accepts a mission to get away from the house and Maria’s judgemental silence, and winds up exposing HYDRA hiding within SHIELD and starting a hunt for his best friend Bucky Barnes._ _

____

~*~*~*

The silence in the room is stifling.

Early that morning the entire world watched as the Twin Towers fell. Tony can’t even begin to grasp the magnitude of what has just happened. Clips of President Bush addressing the nation are scrolling across the television blocks on the left. The blocks on the right are showing the fallout worldwide. The blocks in the center are replaying the horrific clips from this morning and the ongoing recovery. 

An image pauses on a dusty fireman clutching the limp, bloody body of a toddler, and the archer, Clint Barton, flinches. 

The redhead, Natasha Romanoff, watches the images calmly, blankly. 

In the corner, Dr. Bruce Banner is sitting with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths and listening to something on a battered old Diskman. 

Steve, sitting beside Tony and still filthy from where he had been outside assisting with recovery, has his arms resting on his knees, head lowered, hands clasped in prayer.

Tony sits closest to an outlet, as he madly types on his laptop and occasionally answers rushed phone calls from Pepper. He’s mad at Steve but it hurts to look at him right now. And what should he even say? There’s been an awkwardness existing between them since it was revealed Barnes murdered Howard, but Howard of all people wouldn’t want his friend looking so beaten. What would Howard say?

He glances over at Steve before sliding his leg closer and pressing it firmly against Steve’s in a silent show of support. “I know it’s hard to fight when you’re hurting, but you were so strong today.” Steve doesn’t look up, but he pushes back into the pressure, and Tony feels a little better. 

When the door opens and Director Fury and Agent Coulson walk in, everyone looks up except for Dr. Banner, who opens one eye and then closes it again to return to his meditation. 

“I’m not going to say good morning,” Fury announces as he strides into the room. “Frankly, it’s been a fucking awful morning and I believe it’s only going to get worse.”

“Nice, Nicky,” Tony says breezily, responding to an email. “Motivational. Inspirational. You should consider a career change to public speaking.”

“Tony,” Steve says quietly. Tony glances at his weary, filthy face, and settles. 

Fury ignores the exchange as he glares around the room. Coulson takes a seat and pulls folders out of his briefcase. 

“There was an idea,” Fury continues, “called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more.” He nods at Coulson, accepting the folders and tossing them in front of everyone. 

Tony glances down at the paper before him, at Steve, at the entire room. He wonders what his dad would say about all this. About him being Iron Man. About the direction he’s taken the company. About Maria finding Steve and then giving him to Roberta for mothering. About the secret government agency he founded to do good, being a part of so much evil. 

Banner gets up and hovers just behind Tony’s shoulder. 

“If ever there was a time the world needs to believe in heroes, it’s now.”

Tony signs his name and hopes, somewhere, his dad is proud of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came to me in a dream and caused me physical discomfort until I finished it. It's the first thing I've managed to write in years and I'm weirdly proud of it. Hope you all enjoyed the story. Stay safe, my friends <3


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